


Before the Morning Comes

by StarDrifter759



Series: Quantum Mirror: Stargate Alternate Realities [2]
Category: Stargate - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - #15342718903645739, Asgard, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Goa'uld, Have I Mentioned That I Have No Idea Where This is Going? Good, Implied/Referenced Torture, Martouf Lives, Maybe Ori, No idea where this is going, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Yet Decided - Freeform, Other, POV Multiple, Possible Samantha "Sam" Carter/Martouf | Lantash - Freeform, Proper Tagging is a Talent I Don't Have, References to Canon, References to Depression, Sharing a Body, Slow To Update, Tau'ri, Tok'ra, Unreliable Narrator, minor religious references, similar to canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-01-12 14:04:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18448088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarDrifter759/pseuds/StarDrifter759
Summary: Sam hustled up the stairs into the observation galley of ISO room twelve. "Hey Daniel, the General said there was something here I needed to see?"Daniel stood with his arms crossed almost defensively across his chest and looked at her shrewdly over the rim of his glasses, scrutinizing her. Eventually he nodded toward the window. "Yeah, there's someone here you need to see."Frowning at his behavior, but curious nonetheless she moved up to stand beside him in front of the window. There - somehow, impossibly real and alive - asleep on one of the two beds, was "Martouf."--Life starts again for Martouf and Lantash after they - along with Lieutenant Elliot - escape from Zipacna. But years of torture and captivity won't be left behind so easily. Even with help from the Asgrad, a change in circumstances may just be what the doctor ordered, if they are ever going to move on. Maybe it was time the Tok'ra had an attache at the SGC.





	1. Down to the River to Pray

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! Please drop a line and let me know what you think, this is my first foray into the stargate fandom.

Alkesh canons rained vengeful fire on the complex behind them. Staff blasts and shouts from dying Jaffa chorused with the explosions and screaming deathgliders into a deafening cacophony. The ground beneath them heaved with an explosion not 100 meters from their position. Stumbling, Elliot barely kept his feet. The Tok’ra running beside him was less fortunate, sprawled on the ground, struggling to rise with weakened limbs.

“Come on man, we gotta move.” Elliot panted as he reached for his fallen friend; heaving him to his feet they continued their dash for the Stargate.

The battle raged over their heads as Ba’al made his bid to conquer Zipacna. Extensively weakened and long out of favor with Anubis, their captor was little more than a dead man walking. Zipacna’s fall was guaranteed and the System Lord’s attack had been their window of opportunity for escape. But the window was slim and closing fast. They had to get of here before they traded one tormenter for another. Very soon Ba’al’s iron grip would overcome the chaos of battle currently covering their escape.

Finally reaching their destination, the Lieutenant slammed into the DHD, knocking the breath from his lungs. Martouf reached over his shoulder and quickly dialed an address. What address? It didn’t matter. They weren’t gonna stay there. Jaffa were nipping at their heels and would almost certainly see their destination. Hopefully they’d be able to dial out again before they could be followed.

They ran for it as the unstable vortex surged to life, before settling into the event horizon’s water-like surface just before they jumped through.

 

Stumbling out of the sixth wormhole in as many minutes, Elliot and Martouf both collapsed, breathing heavy and deciding that the stone was actually quite comfortable.

Groaning, Martouf sat up. “Where are we? I am unfamiliar with this world.”

“P3X-797. Never actually been here myself, but I know the SGC keeps in touch with these people and there hasn’t been a Goa’uld presence here in centuries.” Elliot panted, turning onto his back.

Extended torture had taken its toll on both them. Furious with his loss of position and Jaffa, Zipacna had been gleefully malicious. Periods of extreme – seemingly endless - pain, death, and forceful resurrection in the sarcophagus were interspersed with periods of isolation and starvation. Elliot honestly wasn’t sure if this was real or a hallucination that will end up being as painful as it was wonderful when the drugs wear off and he wakes, filthy in their cell.

“So… we wait?” His companion asked with a grimace.

Thinking about it, Elliot shook his head. “No, this world is about as safe as they come, but they can’t initiate contact with Earth, and the medical teams don’t come that often. For all I know they just left and we’d be stuck here for ages.”

“Medical teams? What exactly is wrong with the citizens here?”

“Oh I don’t know, some kind of highly contagious disease or other. Doc figured the cure but I don’t know if they know where it comes from yet.”

“… Splendid.” Martouf’s dulcet tones spoke dryly.  

“I’m… I’m thinking Cimmeria.”

The Tok’ra considered this for a moment. “That is a protected planet, it is unsafe for me to venture there.”  

“Well…” turning to look at his friend, Elliot explained his thoughts. “The Asgard left a teacher there. And they’re allies with Earth, and have big fancy ships and beam technology and shit. Should be able to get them to contact the SGC for us. Don’t see why they wouldn’t.”

“Very well. I do not know where to find my kinsman other than to find yours first. Nor can I think of any other viable alternative. We need to get somewhere safe – and soon.”

“I… I just need to rest for a minute, then I’ll go. Hopefully it’s not night there too.”

“One can only hope.”

  

One lesson Elliot had learned during the years of captivity was to appreciate the little things when they came your way. Like not landing on his knees when he arrived on Cimmeria. It might seem like a small accomplishment to most, but he was quite proud of himself. Especially considering the blinding change from the dark of a forest at night the noon day sun on a plain. The headache was instantaneous. But he kept his feet. And hey, it was warm! The little things.

A nearby group of men with laden wagons watched him warily. Glancing surreptitiously at the isolated stone pillar topped with a carving of a stylized hammer then back at him. Light that matched the descriptions he recalled of Asgard technology soon enveloped and released him.

He tried to recall the mission reports he had read, hoping they’d provide a clue about how to interact with this culture. “Hail!” He called, sincerely hoping he was remembering right.

“Hail!” They returned, relaxing.

The oldest stepped forward, shrewd eyes raking over Elliot’s emancipated body, torn clothes, and untamed growth of hair – all covered in layers of filth and old blood.

Zipacna didn’t believe in letting animals wash. How else would they know how lowly they truly were? He couldn’t let them get ideas about being sentient. No.

“Who are you, traveler? What brings you through the portal to Cimmeria?”

Swallowing, Elliot decided to emulate Martouf’s speech pattern, as it was more similar to that of the locals, and would likely seem more respectful. “I am Lieutenant Kevin Elliot of the Tau’ri. And I would speak to the Asgard teacher here – if I may. It is a matter of some urgency.”

A thrust of grizzled grey chin sent the youngest tearing off for the village. “Come, if an audience is granted it will be ready by the time we reach the village.”

“I’m sorry but I need to stay near the gate - portal. I… I had to leave a friend on the planet I came from and I don’t want to go far in case something goes wrong and he comes through. I hope you understand. I mean no disrespect.”

A second runner was dispatched and Elliot sat on the lip of the pedestal the DHD was on. Callused, but gentle hands passed him a water skein. Remembering how long it’d been since he last ate or drank he took careful sips with much appreciation.

Soon enough the distinctive hum of energy and radiating light of Asgard beaming technology appeared, depositing two figures. A strong woman, wearing simple – though clearly good quality - garb similar to that of the men; the leader most likely (Gairwyn?); and the small gray body and disproportionally large head of an Asgard. Not that he’d actually seen one before. But it seemed a fair guess.

“Greetings, Lieutenant Elliot. I am Nerthus.” Said the Asgard.

“Greetings,” Elliot replied. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.” How the hell did Martouf talk like this all the time? Wait… did Martouf talk like this? Was he screwing it up? Aw, hell. It was too late to worry about it now. And he needed to focus, no matter how difficult a feat that was turning out to be.

“Likewise Lieutenant Elliot. Though I must ask why you have sought me. It has been my understanding that Thor was the Asgard contact for the Tau’ri.”

“Yes, he is. But…” Elliot licked his dry, chapped lips. “Stargate Command believes I was killed in action during the Goa’uld offensive against the Tok’ra base on Ravenna. And I was… but apparently not for long enough. I was revived in a sarcophagus – myself and one of the Tok’ra who also hadn’t been quite as dead as believed – and we’ve been Zipacna’s prisoners ever since. We escaped… not even an hour ago.”

“Ravenna fell nearly three years ago.”

Did they all talk in monotone? Didn’t the Asgard know that most of what you say isn’t the actual words but _how_ you say them? Tone?

“Feels like a decade to me.”

Silence.

“Look, we just… just want to go home. But my friend thinks all the Tok’ra bases would have moved and the only way we know to directly find them is to contact an undercover operative and that is not gonna happen. But we can’t get through to Earth because we’d need a GDO and a valid code to get past the iris and I don’t have either. So we came here. To ask you for help. The Asgard are friends to both the Tau’ri and Tok’ra. Your people could get us to the SGC, and we just want to go home.” Elliot knew he sounded defeated but he just couldn’t care. He was literally starving, dehydrated, weak, in pain, and the adrenalin rush from the escape was finally leaving him, taking the last of his strength with it.

“While I am willing to help an ally in need, please understand that I also need to perform individual scans of both yourself and the alleged Tok’ra to ensure that you are who you say you are. Appearances can be deceiving. I must be vigilant.”

Relief washed over him, tears pricking uninvited at the thought of it actually happening. Going home for real. He couldn’t quite fathom it. Nodding, he croaked “okay.”

“Please contact your companion and have them comes through the gate. Thor’s Hammer will cause no harm unless my scans deem the symbiote to be a threat.”

Stumbling to the DHD, Elliot entered the glyphs for P3X-797, tugged off his dog tags and threw them into the event horizon in a daze. It was the signal they had decided on. Martouf hadn’t wanted Elliot to walk back through on the off chance that the Jaffa managed to follow them that far. This way, if he was alone and it was safe, Martouf would know that Elliot had made contact and the Asgard were allowing him onto the protected planet.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long. Less than a minute after the wormhole shut down the chevrons on the gate again activated, indicating an inbound traveler. Nerthus moved to wait at the foot of the stairs as Martouf materialized with a measured step.

Pausing just past the event horizon, his friend made clear eye contact with Nerthus. Then the spectators watched, stunned, as Martouf’s eyes flashed before Tok’ra and Asgard bowed to one another in a respectful greeting.

Straightening, Lantash spoke through Martouf, voice reverberating in that way unique way all symbiote’s did. “I am Lantash of the Tok’ra, and my willing host is Martouf, formerly of Ryche. We thank you for permitting our passage to Cimmeria, and for your consideration of further aid.” Lantash placed a hand over his heart and gave another small bow.

Nerthus gestured him forward. “Step forward, Lantash and Martouf of the Tok’ra, let me scan you.”

Lantash descended the stairs on unsteady legs, bending into a kneel. The movement would have been elegant if it weren’t for the tremors shaking already weakened limbs. In the end, while the intent of the submissive gesture was clear, he more or less collapsed into position.

Dark murmurs from the Cimmerian men still watching pricked at Elliot’s ears. Clearly they were uncomfortable with the presence of a symbiote, just as clearly, they recognized the obvious signs of torture. Where at first glance Elliot himself appeared malnourished more than anything – aside from dirty – Martouf had quite clearly suffered the effects of severe torture. Like Elliot he was too thin, poorly groomed, and filthy. Unlike Elliot, his once handsome face had been slowly and deliberately disfigured with acid. His beard wouldn’t grow where skin had been burned with a branding iron or melted. Every rip in his clothes revealed yet more damage. All discolored, ugly, and in some cases still oozing. He had gone from Prince Charming to The Hunchback of Notre Dam.

And that was just what they could see. They had no idea about any of the hallucinogenic drugs, or the tools that cause unbearable pain yet leave no mark. About the vile substances they used Lantash as a test subject for. About how many times Elliot had seen Martouf’s broken and bleeding body dragged back to their cell, where he had to listen as their breathing became more and more labored, the hours after death he was left there, uncovered, before being hauled out and dumped in the sarcophagus.

Just for it all happened again, and again, and again, in a seemingly endless loop.  

These people thought they knew what the Goa’uld were capable of. Hell, Elliot had thought that at one point. But just as he hadn’t known, shielded as they were by the Asgard, the Cimmerian’s had no idea of the horrors Goa’uld delight in. They didn’t even realize they were ignorant.

All things considered, that was probably for the best.

His thoughts were broken as Nerthus lowered their (her/it/his?) hand and spoke. Emotion seeping into their voice for the first time, “You are indeed true sons of the Tok’ra. I commend your courage and strength. The life you live is far from easy. I must also inform you that the damage to both host and symbiote is quite extensive, and your prognosis grave.”

What? Elliot straightened. True none of them would be dancing a jig anytime soon, but that sounded ominous. Was this how he would loose them? Had the three of them survived everything Zipacna had thrown at them only for his friends to die at this blessed taste of freedom?  

“You and Lieutenant Elliot will be transported to my ship in orbit. There I will heal you to the best of my abilities before taking you to Stargate Command.”

“You have our greatest and most sincere gratitude,” Martouf whispered fervently before bowing his head for the third time; hand once again over his heart. “We are in your debt.”

“Do debts exist amongst friends? We help each other, do we not?”

Martouf was beamed away the moment Nerthus finished speaking. Apparently that question had been a rhetorical one.

“Nerthus…?”

“Fear not, Lieutenant Elliot. You too shall be transported to the ship. However, their condition was even more sever than your own and they need some time in an intensive care pod that you do not. I must say it saddens me greatly to see Lantash in such pain. He hid much from his host… bears too much by himself. I would suggest keeping him at Stargate Command for the foreseeable future. While the Tok’ra are his family, and a familiar environment, they also live on a knife’s edge – constantly hunted by the Goa’uld. He needs routine, and as much rest as he’ll allow himself.”

“You speak as if you know this Et… Tok’ra. As if he were a friend.” Gairwyn spoke for the first time, eyes on Nerthus.

The Asgard hummed with thought before replying. “When the Asgard held our first summit with Egeria – Queen Mother of the Tok’ra – it took place on the shores of Shimmer Lake, where she was raising her newest clutch - Lantash among them. He was the first to leave the nesting shallows and strike out deeper into the lake. Less than one day of life and he had already figured out how to get the better of the adults minding him. He was curious, resourceful, clever, and fearless. We knew then, that this young larva would grow to become one of the brightest stars in the Tok’ra sky. I had always hoped I would see him again, though his current condition saddens me greatly. However, with a little time, I am sure he will again burn bright in the night sky.”

Elliot nodded. “Yeah, he’s awesome.”

Gairwyn blinked as she attempted to understand him, before seeming to decide it didn’t matter all that much. Shaking off her confusion, she addressed him. “Can you walk, friend? We can aid you if you require assistance to the village.”

Hesitating, he responded, “I can walk.”

“Good. When we reach the village we will provide you with a warm meal and fresh clothes for your journey home. Come.” She waved him forward.

 

* * *

 

 

His surrounds came into focus slowly, the blurred shadows and light withdrawing into the clean aesthetic of an Asgard vessel. A few more breaths and he attempted to rise, groaning at the ache of sore muscles.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

An Asgard voice. His mind felt sluggish, like wading through mud. Nerthus. That was who had spoken to him.

“Go slowly, no need to rush.” A small, cool hand braced his arm, steadied him. “That’s it.”

“Lantash?” He croaked.

“Should be waking soon as well. The healing sleep was not designed to suppress a symbiote. However many of the substances used against you only have an affect on symbiote physiology, and they built up in his system. Even still, I am somewhat surprised he did not wake with you.”

“Exhausted…” Martouf croaked before clearing his throat and trying again. “He was exhausted by his continued efforts over the last three years to heal and protect us both – myself especially.”

A considering hum; “You feel guilt over this?”

“Yes – no. He’s been pushing himself too far, because _he_ feels a misplaced guilt over something that happened before our incarceration.”

“Misplaced, you say?”

“Yes. He did everything in his power to help me. And the choices of others, imposed upon him against his will, certainly is not something I believe he should be held accountable for.”

“Would you like to tell me what happened? I realize it has no bearing on the current situation and is not something I need know, but I’ve held a fond spot for Lantash since he was a precocious little larva his own Queen Mother called ‘impertinent.’ Though she was smiling at him when she said it.”

Amused, Martouf quipped, “Egeria called him ‘impertinent’?” with a smile.

“Indeed she did. However, she also said he was blessing to her. And that she hoped she would be able to see him grow.”

Martou’s smile dimmed. “That opportunity was stolen from her.”

“It was,” came the simple, mournful reply.

Sighing he acquiesced. “The short version?”

“Yes, it would be best not to tax yourself overly, too soon. You are not recovered.”

He paused a moment to organize his thoughts. “I had been gravely injured. In fact by all rights I should have been dead near instantly. As it was, Lantash fought for me. Due to the gravity of my condition and the circumstances surrounding the incident, we were placed in stasis immediately upon our return to the tunnels. Certain factions without the High Council decided that Lantash should not be given the opportunity to try and heal me. When Lantash was informed of this, he refused to abandon me to my death, and was thus forcibly removed, sustaining life-threatening injuries of his own in the process.

“That should have been my end. However, cloning technology, simulated injuries, and very loyal friends, meant the body they dissected was not truly mine.” Knowing how the Asgard lived near immortal lives thanks to clones and not wanting to be insensitive, he continued. “Anise revived me once – after Lantash’s removal – and told me what they had done. She also told me that the clone was in a vegetative state and never achieved consciousness. They were not trying to be cruel – merely attempting to save a friend.”

Lantash was stirring, his presence in Martouf’s mind strengthening as the symbiote approached consciousness.

“I am not offended by such use of a cloned body Martouf. I am however concerned by the council’s decision in your regard, and impressed with your friends’ ingenuity.” Finding Asgard facial expressions difficult to read, he could not be certain, but he had the distinct impression Nerthus was smiling.

Fully conscious now, his curious symbiote quickly looked through Martouf’s short-term memory for what he had missed. Not feeling the need to contribute to the conversation he ‘yawned’ and lounged back; content to live vicariously through his host for the time being.

Deciding to use this to segue the conversation topic he informed Nerthus. “Lantash is awake now.”

“Excellent. We should now discuss the next stage of your recuperation.”

“Actually,” Martouf interjected, he hoped not too rudely. “Is there a washroom I could clean up in before we discuss the next stage?”

“Certainly.” Nerthus gestured to a doorway behind him. “Take your time.”

 

Sighing, Martouf eyed his own toes and prepared himself to look in the mirror. He’d stripped his soiled garments and taken care of bodily necessities. All he had left was to wash and replace his attire with that which had been gifted to him by the Cimmerians. But first - he and Lantash both - needed to face the mirror.

Following a mental nudge from his symbiote, Martouf closed his eyes and began to take slow measured breaths before lifting his face. A minute more of measured, timed breaths and Martouf opened his eyes.

The visual was shocking – yet so familiar. Underneath the unruly curls and patchwork beard, he looked like he had before spending three years as prisoner of a vengeful Goa’uld. There wasn’t a single – visible – scar to reference his suffering. His body weight and muscle mass had somehow been restored. By all appearances he was perfectly healthy and had been all along. He didn’t know if he was pleased or absolutely terrified. It was too much to take in. He was having trouble processing. Too much had happened, too much had changed. He didn’t _understand_ anything anymore. But he did know one thing though: the hair had to go. Now.

Thankfully Lantash agreed whole-heartedly and had already limited the supply of blood to the proper follicles, as well as adjusting his androgen hormone levels to stimulate hair loss. Martouf waited for his symbiote to give him the go, then started pulling. One mass of filthy unruly hair after another dropped to the floor. First his head, then beard. The motion of his hands was soothing, his eyes stayed trained on themselves in the mirror as he worked entirely by feel. When the last clump fell, he didn’t even bother to look at the mess on the floor, just stepped into the shower. He was moving on.

Starting now.

 

“While the proteins blocking the specific memories were an efficient tool for survival, there is considerable risk moving forward of a sudden breakdown causing traumatic flashbacks. The human brain relies heavily on association, and it is impossible to account for all potential triggers.” Nerthus explained calmly.

Martouf white-knuckled the edge of his healing table – he refused to call it a bed or even a platform – he sat on aboard the Asgard’s ship. “You want me to remember?” Lantash was positively _seething_ in the back of his mind.  

“In a manner of speaking, yes. What I have in mind is a compromise between your current amnesia-like state and Lantash’s full remembrance. As a fully blended pair, it is unreasonable to assume that none of the memories would ever bleed through. Perhaps this way you can both heal and move forward with minimal trauma.”

Lantash came forward with an eye-flash. “And how would you accomplish this?”

“I will target the areas currently affected by the protein blocks and push them through the hippocampus to the neocortex, bypassing any processing in the amygdala. This will take the memories from episodic to general knowledge, with minimal emotional overlay. I intend to push them deep; hopefully they will feel like very old memories that have little emotional significance.

“However, this process will have to be done twice. Martouf’s procedure will be over in a matter of hours; an additional twelve in a sleep-like state will cement the changes. But I’m afraid that for you the process will be longer. You blocked the experience from your host in such a way that his brain has yet to process these experiences at all. Meaning there will be no residual imprint. You on the other hand have memories that fully and properly developed. Suppressing them will be more difficult.

“You will need to spend most of the ten days following the procedure dormant. During this time your memories will be suppressed. The natural state of blending between you will be restored when I remove the barriers and your emotions will color Martouf’s otherwise empty visuals. But they will seem little more than dreams.”

It wasn’t perfect, not every memory from the last three years had been blocked by Lantash. But the worst of it was. Perhaps that was enough. Perhaps it was for the best. He wasn’t who he had been before imprisonment, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. His perspective had changed, but his core hadn’t. Life would be better when he felt steadier. When his thoughts and emotions weren’t the churning waves of a whirlpool attempting to suck him in and drown him. He just needed time.

With a heavy sigh, Martouf ran a hand through soft, freshly grown hair and looked at Nerthus. “We’re ready when you are” He said, gracefully lying on the cold table. Sooner this was over with, the better.

 

* * *

 

Elliot followed Gairwyn through the large – and very clean – corridors of the Nerthus’ ship. In the end he’d spent a day and a night in the village before Nerthus had sent a hologram to Gairwyn requesting their presence. While the food, clean clothes – and God, the bed – had been wonderful, he’d also been oddly jittery – anxious. He realized now that it was his response to being separated from Martouf (and by consequence Lantash). He’d been conditioned to associate that separation with pain and fear. And while he knew they weren’t in any danger from the Asgard, the now intrinsic reaction would not be so easily overcome.

Stepping into their infirmary, Elliot looked around curiously. To him it looked like a science lab, computers and metal, other unidentifiable things, and not much else. …Well, except for Martouf, lying motionless on a metal slab while a hovering ball of some sort flashed moving rays of light into his open, unseeing eyes.

“Whoa!” He exclaimed. “Martouf looks… normal. I mean, like he’s supposed too.” Elliot was surprised and thoroughly impressed. He did wonder where on this ship Martouf had managed to find a razor, though. He side-eyed Nerthus – and sincerely doubted the Asgard had had anything to do with it.

“Indeed. In addition to it’s own work, the healing pod temporarily amplified the symbiote’s already strong healing ability nearly fifty fold, resulting in the near perfect physical condition of the host body much sooner than I had originally anticipated.”

Elliot approached, and looked closer at his friend. The stare was unnerving, but otherwise he looked healthier than Elliot at least had ever seen. Gairwyn came up beside him to see as well.

“This is the other?” She asked, flabbergasted. “His face had appeared like melted wax!”

Elliot cringed at her description – accurate as it was.

“Yes, as I said, the healing pod and symbiote abilities combined quite spectacularly. Physically he is completely healed. And I am doing what I can for the mental trauma.”

“You can help with that?” Elliot turned sharply.

“To a degree, yes. I had intended to ask if you would like me to perform such a procedure on you as well, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, please.” He nodded dumbly.

“Very well. Please note that I will not be erasing your memories, merely pushing into older sections of memory, hopefully lessoning their power. But residual trauma will remain – and is expected.”

“I understand.” He didn’t really, but if this was the help being offered, he didn’t have much choice.

“If you would lie down on that table there, I will start with the physical healing. You will be in a hypnotic state for the memory modification, and will then be kept asleep for several hours to allow it to settle properly.”  

 

* * *

 

“Greetings, General O’Neill.”

Jack looked up from the personnel files he’d been doodling on. “Greetings, Asgard-I-don’t-recognize and Gairwyn. What can we at the SGC do for you fine folks today?”

“I am Nerthus. Gairwyn and I bring two refugees. One a member of Stargate Command believed to have been killed in battle, and the other a Tok’ra, also believed to be fallen. They came to Cimmeria yesterday seeking aid in returning here after making their escape from the Goa’uld, Zipacna.”

“Zi-PAC-na, you say? Gotta be honest here, I thought he died _years_ ago.”

“No, his demise is quite recent. Though he has been hiding from the System Lords and Anubis since his forces were decimated on Ravenna. Incidentally, that is also where he acquired these particular prisoners.”

Jack made steady eye contact with the hologram in front of him, rapidly clicking the pen in his hand as he turned over the implications of what he was hearing. “So he put Lieutenant Elliot and Lantash in a sarcophagus, huh? That is who you’re talking about, right? Tok’ra and SGC both lost people that day, but they’re the ones who put their necks on the line to save who they could. Namely me… and SG-1. Got caught on purpose. Died taking out that snakehead’s army – clearing us an out. We were hoping they’d have been dead too long to be revived by the time anyone came to clean up that mess. Damn it!”

“They were retried in time to be revived, yes. The Jaffa also found Martouf in stasis in the tunnels and delivered him to their master as well.”

“Marty!” Jack was dumbstruck.

“Indeed. I will afford them the opportunity to tell the story to you themselves. I’m afraid I did not ask for details. Their physical conditions were much too pressing and I deemed healing them to be a higher priority. Will you accept them, then?”

“Yeah, sure, beam them right on in here.”

“As they are unconscious, and will remain so for many hours yet, I shall transport them to an empty isolation room.” A pause. “I also took two beds from your infirmary for them.”

His phone started to ring. Infirmary - no doubt there - calling about their suddenly missing beds. He glared at it, hoping the force was strong enough with him to shut it up… no such luck. Damn.

“While the choice is ultimately his and yours, General, I would ask you to consider keeping Martouf with you for the time being.”

“With me, Nerthus?” Jack asked, doing his best impression of Teal’c raising his eyebrow.

“With Stargate Command. The Tok’ra live unstable lives, I also fear that those who had Lantash forcibly removed from Martouf may still hold power in the Tok’ra High Council. If that is so, Martouf will likely feel threatened and unsafe. If he is to heal - relative safety, and some measure of routine are vital. For the time being at least.”

“You know, life in the SGC is no cake walk.”

“No. But your base does not relocate with frequency. Your missions are often simple reconnaissance, your schedules for teams set and regimented. These things are merely a framework, allowing for healing, and will not be necessary for long and possibly not at all. That said, I still hesitate to suggest he return to the Tok’ra.”

It was quiet for a minute as Jack thought it over. Then Gairwyn spoke up, “Hail, General!”

“Hail, Gairwyn.” Really? Hail? And besides they were in the middle of a conversation, not at the beginning. Sure, she hadn’t said anything, but still…

“I wondered if I might stay for a day or two as well. Learn more about your people, discuss further trade options now that our technology and education are advancing thanks to the Asgard. And then perhaps speak to this Etin when he wakes.”

Now both his eyebrows were up. _Another_ visitor? Just what he needed.

“Well… some of that I may need to schedule for another time. But if you’re interested in learning about the Tok’ra, Marty is a good place to start. Hell, he’s one of the only two Tok’ra I actually like.” Jack sighed heavily, _fuck it_. “But if he’s going to sleep for a while, and if I’m going to be keeping him here, then maybe I should call Jacob anyway. He’s our Tok’ra ambassador, and the other one that I like. He’s also Colonel Carter’s father. And he’d be glad to talk to you.”

“That would please me greatly.” And what do you know? She was actually smiling.

“Excellent, I need to answer this phone before my eardrums explode, so,” The hologram disappeared before Gairwyn was beamed in.

Why did he take this job again?

 

* * *

 

Daniel stood, arms crossed, in the observatory for ISO room twelve waiting for Sam, eye flicking between Lieutenant Elliot and Martouf’s unconscious figures. He could see this going one of two ways. 1.) Sam being ecstatically happy, or 2.) Sam having a panic attack. Her feelings for Martouf had just been (and possibly still were) too strong for her reaction to be anything but colossal. Of course… the direction of that was what was in question. True, Sam was unconscionably calm and cool in the heat of the moment, when adrenaline was rushing and she was _on_. But this was a hot button, which would get the jump on her. And probably pull the rug out from under her feet.

He had thought at the time that Sam had been wise to say ‘no’ when Pete had proposed. And now he knew that’d been the right call. This was going to be explosive enough; they did _not_ need to add her being engaged to another man to this emotion melee.

Just then the door opened and Sam hopped in. “Hey Daniel, the General said there was something here I needed to see?”

He looked at her over the rim of his glasses, wishing he could spare her some of this. Alas, “Yeah, there’s someone here you need to see.”

Frowning, she stepped forward and looked through the window. “Martouf.”

Daniel – who hadn’t taken his eyes off her – saw her pale, saw her eyes widen and glaze with shock. Saw her breathing increase, swore he could see her pulse hammering in her temple. 3… 2… 1…               

“No!”

Bingo.

Sam gasped breathlessly, shaking her head in denial as she backed away, wide-eyed stare never leaving the figure lying on the other side of the glass.

Daniel approached her slowly, warily, hands rising in a beseeching movement, still eyeing her over the rim of his glasses with open concern. “Sam…” His voice was low and soft.

“No!” She cried. Gaze finally leaving Martouf to roll wildly – like a spooked horse – before she fled the observation room.

“Sam!” He called before chasing after her. Two hallways later he found her leaning against the wall, hands in her hair, pale faced and nearly hyperventilating.

Catching sight of him she straightened. “I can’t Daniel, I can’t do that again, I just…” Panicked voice thick with unshed tears she heaved a few desperate breaths before continuing. “They’re dead. They’re _dead_. That’s not…”

Daniel decided to cut her off there before she could work herself up anymore. “It’s them Sam. They’re really alive.”

“No, they’re not. And if they are then they’re _not_ them, not mi…” She stopped abruptly, tears finally breaking their banks and pouring down her cheeks.

_Not mine_. That was what she was going to say - that they were some other Lantash and Martouf, from a different reality, not _her_ Lantash and Martouf.

“I watched them die, Daniel. I’ve lost them twice and I can’t, _can’t,_ go through that again.”

“Sam,” He was about to cry himself, this was impossible to watch. He remembered her grief – quite clearly. He was the one the concerned bartenders had called. His ears had listened to her woes. His shoulder she’d cried on. His couch she’d spent silent hours mourning on.

“Daniel, I just can’t.” Her voice was quiet but strong now, firm, yet still somehow desperate. “ _I’m_ the one who shot them twice with the zat. _I’m_ the one who held Martouf as… I mourned for _months_. You know that. Believing I’d killed them. Then I find out that Lantash survived - because it wasn’t actually me, but the Tok’ra High Council who had essentially _murdered_ Martouf. By forcibly removing Lantash - and nearly killing him too in the processes.”

“I know, Sam.”

She ignored him – or didn’t hear him – and began to sob openly, even as dawn seemed to break over face. “But Lantash was still alive, and he would carry Martouf like I carry Jolinar. And that was _wonderful_ …” then twilight fell. “But he was still so weak from fighting to save Martouf, from refusing to abandon him, that Ren’al told me he wouldn’t be able to survive implantation in another host. And then Elliot… and Lantash tried… he told… he said… and then.”

Now she bawling too hard for anything but unintelligible sounds to escape. “Come on,” he stepped forward to wrap her in a hug. Minutes passed with nothing but her sobs and the occasional airmen passing them awkwardly.

“She dangled Lantash’s life in front of me. Like the goddamn carrot.”

Daniel held her tighter, closing his eyes against her anguish.

“He died for me Daniel,” A broken whisper. “I hadn’t even wrapped my mind around getting him back, and…”

“I know, Sam. I know. But they’re back now. They’re here – both of them. And they’re together again and they’re not going anywhere,”

She scoffed.

“Sam…” He moved his hands to grip her shoulders and stepped back so he could look her in the eye, and hopefully impress the seriousness of what he was about to say on her. “You need to listen to me, okay?”

She nodded, wet eyes vulnerable.

“You are not Tantalus. Okay? You _are not_ Tantalus. And they _are not_ your torment.”

Despite his firm grip, she raised her arms to mimic his stance and gripped his shoulders in return. The tears dripping from her jaw and anguish twisting her face made his heart constrict even as her eyes bore into his. “Yes, Daniel, they are. _They are_.” Her quiet emphasis slaying him.

“Sam,” he murmured, distraught, even as she slipped away from him.

Sighing, he looked down but made no move to follow her - there was no point in following her again right now. She _was_ glad they were alive – he knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt - but she was shocked, overwhelmed, and afraid of being hurt. He made his point, hopefully it would marinate and eventually she’d see. Pushing her right now would be counter productive, just drive her to deny it more.

A soft sound behind him – familiar but out of place. A footfall, but not one made with regulation boots. Turning his head slightly, he looked over his shoulder.

“It was not my intention to intrude.” Gairwyn said, not looking particularly embarrassed about the rather obvious eavesdropping.

Daniel checked the hall in both directions. Clear and clear. Turning back to Gairwyn he approached her steadily. “Well, uh… it’s okay. You weren’t the only one to witness that but still, I promise I won’t tell Sam. She’ll be embarrassed about making a public scene when she calms down and realizes that’s what happened.”

“The Etin’s presence causes her distress? Or was she upset about the other?”

“No, it’s Martouf. And it’s not exactly distress; despite what that looked like she really is very happy they’re alive and here. She’s just afraid to believe it.” He tucked his hands into his pockets, not really sure he should be having this conversation. “Afraid that she’ll lose them again.”

“I see.” Despite that assertion she looked more uncertain than Daniel could recall ever having seen her. “They were close then?”

“Yeah, it’s… complicated. Things between them are complicated.”

“Ah.” She hesitated a moment. “May I ask, what is ‘Tantalus of Torment’?”

A brief involuntary chuckle, “It’s uh, ‘Torment of Tantalus’ actually. And it’s a reference to a myth from one of Earth’s ancient cultures. Basically, Tantalus committed crimes against the gods, and their punishment for his transgressions was to put him in a lake with a fruit tree overhead – both of which would recede when he reached for them, so that he would spend eternity hungry and thirst but never be able to eat or drink. So close but so far, sort of thing. Always wanting what you can’t have. Eternal frustration.” That was probably too much info.

“So… you are saying she… desires this Etin. And believes that she cannot have him - though you disagree.”

“More or less.” Yup, he’d definitely said too much. Oh well, in for a penny in for a pound, right? “She… well I’m convinced she’s in love with him, but believes that one way or another, she’d lose him no matter what, and so she’s trying to avoid the issue altogether.”

Gairwyn’s brow was furrowed, her face still confused. And since it was way too late to stop now, he decided to take pity on her and keep talking about his theories regarding Sam and Martouf. It was nice anyway; he needed a release valve himself. They were stressful. And Jack wouldn’t be sympathetic to this and Teal’c would just stand there, and Daniel needed this off _his_ chest.    

“The life of a Tok’ra is dangerous. You know that he just escaped from being held as a prisoner for years. But even best case scenario, and nothing like that ever happens again, he’ll outlive her by – potentially – centuries. She’ll grow old and move through different life stages and he’ll mostly stay the same. And Lantash will live even longer.”

Gairwyn hummed in understanding. “Though she may be the one changing, in the long run it will still be him who leaves her behind.”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Yet you still believe she should pursue a courtship?”

“If she does or could love him… yes. There’s a saying here on Earth that goes: _better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all_. And I’m a believer in that. Despite everything that went wrong, despite losing my wife the way I did, I am a better man for her having been in my life in the first place. And loving her was worth all of it. I have never, and will never, regret loving her while I had the chance.”

“Gossiping, Daniel?” Jack’s voice drawled behind him. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

“I was not gossiping, Jack, Gairwyn asked a question and,”

“Yes, Daniel, you were.” Jack cut him off – as per usual. “And you were oversimplifying things too. You left out good old Jolinar and Carter’s survivors guilt.”

Daniel sighed as Jack tapped his own nose. “See, I observe things too, Daniel.”

“Yes Jack, you’re wonderfully astute.” Daniel rolled his eyes.

Jack pretended to preen under the praise. “Well, I imagine we’re going to have plenty of time to watch and dissect this particular emotional disaster - later. For now, stop gossiping in the hallway like a high school girl. So says the principle of this school.”

“You mean General of this base?”

Jack harrumphed as made his way to the elevator, “Same damn thing, far as I can see.” Reaching the elevator he turned around, “Gairwyn, wanna come with me? Jacob should be arriving soon.”

With that, Daniel was left alone.

 

* * *

 

Martouf groaned from the bed beside him.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Elliot greeted.

“Kevin?” He sounded confused.

“Yup. Bed next to yours.”

Martouf still hadn’t opened his eyes. “Where are we?”

“One of the ISO rooms in the SGC.”

A groan was his answer.

“How do you feel?”

“Rather like an alkesh landing pad. Yourself?”

“Not that bad, maybe a teltac…” He trailed off, his voice quieting with sympathy. “Lantash?”

“Unconscious. And will be for significantly more time than I am comfortable with, according to Nerthus.”

“I’m sorry,” was his sincere reply. Elliot could always tell when Lantash was down and out, because it showed through Martouf. He was always… sad… maybe a little lost; in a way he just wasn’t when Lantash was an active presence in his mind.

“What is it that you hum?”

“Hmm? What? I was humming?” He seriously hadn’t realized that.

A weak chuckle, “yes, you were. You do so often. I have never asked before as I have always assumed the answer to be personal, and did not wish to risk Zipacna’s Jaffa overhearing and perhaps use something that mattered to you, against you, so I did not ask. But I have often wondered.”

It was weird to realize that he could feel any embarrassment around Martouf, no mater how small. He’d honest to God that they were past that completely. “Yeah, um… they’re gospel hymns.” He looked over at his friend and met Martouf’s unique celadon eyes - that clear, pale glaze of transparent green he’d never seen on anyone else. He used to find his friend’s gaze almost unnerving, now however, it was just Martouf.

Giving in, he cleared his throat and continued. “They’re religious songs. Not that I’m particularly religious, mind, it’s just… all of Earth’s major religions are _ours_. Just ours. And for some reason, that really started to matter in that hellhole, ya know? Maybe it’s not real, maybe it is, but either way I _know_ it’s not a Goa’uld lie. It might just one we tell ourselves, but… that’s… okay, somehow.

“Anyway, I grew up in a small town and my folks were real religious. I was sitting in a church pew with my father every Sunday, while my mama sang in the choir. She loved to sing – was good too. And she didn’t just sing at church. She sang when she cooked, when she cleaned, and every night when I was real little… instead of bedtime stories or prayers, she’d rub my back and sing me to sleep. I think I was eight when I told her I was too big for that and she needed to stop.” His smile was maudlin.

“Are they harmonic vocalizations purely, or are there lyrics as well?”

“There are words. I just… it’s the same reason you never asked before now. I didn’t want the Jaffa to hear. Even if I haven’t really believed since I was kid. It still means something to me, and I didn’t want to share it with them.”

A sound of assent.

“Would it be inappropriate of me to ask if you would sing one? I must admit a certain curiosity.” He followed Martouf’s gaze to the window in front of them, seeing nothing but their reflections, he looked back toward his friend who was still staring at the window.

“Uh… inappropriate, no. But your ears might regret it pretty soon. I don’t have my mama’s voice.” He wracked his brain trying to decide on a song. It might be morbid, but he realized he’d tended to sing ‘Down to the River to Pray’, when things were particularly bad. In fact he recalled humming it as Martouf was dying in their cell more than once. Other people might think it was weird but he thought it was fitting. Taking a deep breath, he began to sing.


	2. As You Are, As You Were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... anyone other than me notice they changed the name of Jack’s son? In the original Stargate movie, it pans by an award for ‘Tyler O’Neil’ (yes, that’s ONE ‘L’) but in the series it’s Charlie O’Neill (with two ‘L’s). Meh, I just chalk it up to changes in the timeline. Lord knows they mess with timelines and alternate realities enough. They also usually hide fun little easter eggs that imply changes without giving too many dets. It’s a fun little mind-fuck isn’t it?

“Jacob! Old buddy, old pal; long time no see!” Jack exclaimed as the Tok’ra came down the ramp.

Jacob sighed and looked at him with irritation covered by a thin veil of patience. “This had better be good Jack, you know the current mood of the council and their opinion of my relationship with the SGC.”

“Yes, well, the council can kiss my lily white ass.” He heaved a heavy breath, and gestured to be followed. “But that’s not why I asked you here. Got a representative of a planet called Cimmeria here, and she wants to know more about the Tok’ra. Apparently the idea of ‘good snakes’ is foreign to her. Who would’ve thought?”

“Cimmeria? That’s an Asgard protected planet." Jacob said as he fell in step beside Jack, heading toward the briefing room.

“That it is. An Asgard named Nerthus showed up here with Gairwyn – the representative that wants to meet you – and two refugees.” Here Jack stopped and turned to look at him intensely.

“Refugees who found their way to Cimmeria after escaping from one Zipacna.”

Jacob’s eyes widened. “Zipacna! He hasn’t been a player since Ravenna.” Disbelief colored his voice.

Jack nodded sagely, while giving Jacob a significant look. “It would appear he picked himself up a couple of souvenirs that fine day when we all almost died.”

Jacob grabbed his arm, stopping Jack from entering the briefing room. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

Jack nodded toward Gairwyn, waiting in the briefing room, watching them in the doorway with slight apprehension. “When you’re done in there, we’ll go for a walk.”

 

* * *

 

Martouf looked at the three young Tau’ri on the other side of the glass, then toward Kevin, snoring – rather obnoxiously, really - on his bed. “You were teammates of Lieutenant Elliot?”

The smaller female stepped toward the flexible microphone mounted on the window frame in front of her. “We weren’t on the same SG unit, but we trained together as recruits before we were approved for active duty here and assigned to teams. I’m Hailey, this is Satterfield, and Grogan.” She said, indicating first the other female then the male.

Martouf bowed in greeting. “I am Martouf.”

“You’re a former host, right?” Hailey asked.

Martouf paused before responding. “Although there was a brief time when my symbiote had been removed from me, I am again – and plan to remain – host to Lantash of the Tok’ra.” Clamping down on his defensive instincts, he fought to keep his voice courteous, and expression neutral.

Waking without Lantash had been the single most horrific experience of his life – and he’d had his fair share of undesirable experiences. He had even felt a stab of jealousy toward Kevin when he’d learned that he had been Lantash’s temporary host. It’s not that be begrudged his soulmate attempting to survive in another host; indeed, when the time does come for Martouf to die and give up his place as host, he will. But he wants to meet the person who will become the new part of his symbiote beforehand. Wants to know that they deserve his friend. Does _not_ want to survive the passing of that particular baton. For him, life without Lantash is no longer a life worth living. And the reminder – no matter how unintentional – was not appreciated.

“What’s that like, anyway?” She was a curious little human – forceful too.

“Forgive me, do you wish to know what it is like to live as a host, or as a former one?” He sincerely hoped it was not the latter.

“The first one - life as a host. We’re told the Goa’uld suppress their hosts, and the Tok’ra ‘blend’ but I don’t think any of us really understand what that means.”

Martouf frowned and cocked his head curiously. “I was under the impression there would be orientations for members of the SGC to learn about the Tok’ra. In fact, I am the one who insisted such a clause exist as part of the Tok’ra - Tau’ri Alliance. The notion was well received on both sides.”

The three shared looks, all shifting slightly with discomfort but not otherwise responding to his statement. Ah, he began to understand.

“They spent the entirety of the sessions discussing Tok’ra history, details of the tunnel’s operation that most would find quite dry, as well as the rather obvious reasons we live in such tunnels to begin with.” It was a statement.

Hailey, the apparent spokesman of their group, again stepped forward; “Personally, I think the technical details of the crystals programming and functions are fascinating, but still beside the point of a general orientation.”

He chuckled lightly, finding the forceful little human amusing. “Yes, quite beside the point, and not at all what I had in mind when I suggested that such orientations might assist in mutual understanding between our respective peoples. Would you please describe what it is about the blending process that causes confusion? I will endeavor to answer your questions as thoroughly as possible.”

She pounced on the proffered opportunity. “How do we know who to address? Should I be asking Lantash his opinion about something when you give an answer? What about the Tok’ra who _always_ seem to be under the symbiote’s control? How do you decide? Does it even matter who is in control? Is it frustrating to share your body like that? Is it insulting if we only address one of you? What if we address the wrong one? Say Lantash is talking and I call him Martouf, is that a faux pas or would he even care?”

Martouf’s smile was wide, and this laugh more robust than his previous. “Is that all?” He asked dryly with a raise of his eyebrows.

Both females blushed and looked away from him. He pressed his lips together to withhold his amusement. They might find it insulting if his mirth were to continue.

“I believe most of your initial education - and experiences - regarding symbiotes, is in relation to the Goa’uld. Such experiences have taught your people that symbiotes overcome their hosts, imposing their will over a separate sentient being capable of at least attempting resistance. What was never clarified to you is that it is this very opposition that ensures a schism in the shared consciousness, dividing host and symbiote.

“When the Tok’ra speak about ‘blending’ we mean it rather literally - the minds mingling and sharing equally. This persists. What I feel, Lantash feels, and what Lantash feels, I feel. More than just the body is shared. In a very real way we are two parts of one whole – a single entity comprised of two beings.” He paused to make sure they were absorbing his words. “As we make no efforts to differentiate between ourselves, it is not something you need to concern yourself with. We truly are of one mind in most respects.

“As for control… it is a very fluid thing, unique to each set - and as all experiences are shared equally – of very little importance overall.” He paused again, “Do you need me to clarify anything further?”

“ _How_ is it not important? It’s control over your body!”

“Our awareness of each other is a constant thing, without being an imposition. Lantash’s thoughts are like rain falling outside. I can hear them if I pay attention, or I can choose not to and they are simply the soothing sound of water in the background – easily ignored. Feelings and intentions are somewhat stronger. We feel such things in real time. And if he were to sense any objection or unease from me he would not do whatever it was that was the source of my reticence.”

They were silent, but he suspected unsatisfied somehow. Hailey opened her mouth, perhaps to seek further explanation, when the door to the isolation room buzzed and opened.

The sound – so reminiscent of their of squalid little cell in Zipacna’s base – roused Kevin instantly. His eyes opened and met Martouf’s, though he kept the rest of his body supine. Another learned behavior, it was best if the Jaffa were oblivious of just how aware you are at any given point in time. But it wasn’t a Jaffa who stepped through the blast door. It was Jacob Carter and Jack O’Neill.

The former charged forward, no hesitation, arms wide-open. “Get over here and hug me, kid.” Jacob groused, not giving Martouf a chance to reply before snatching him in a hard embrace.

“I’m older than you,” Martouf smiled. “And you should know better than to let Saroosh influence you so.”

Memories of the elderly woman cooing at him, patting his cheeks and giving him the easiest job when they had KP together all flitted by. Jolinar’s indulgent smile and hard eye-roll as the elder shamelessly flirted with him. Rosha’s laugh. The memories were all suffused with warmth and nostalgia. And reminded him painfully of how much had changed. Those days were gone… and never coming back.

“Well Selmack is older than all of us, and I’m his host. Get used to it kid, I win by default.” Jacob pulled back, keeping a firm grip on his shoulders.

Martouf squirmed under the intense scrutiny Jacob was subjecting him too. He felt as though all his scars, hidden by Asgard healing, were laid bare before the former Tau’ri General. That he had been thoroughly scanned and Jacob saw it all.

Because he probably did.

“You’ll be okay, kid.” The hands on his shoulders squeezed briefly, reassuringly. Familiar voice filled with quiet conviction. Jacob honestly believed that. And somehow… know that Jacob believed that helped Martouf to believe it too.

“Come,” Selmak said, moving one hand to cup the back of his neck, a separate greeting to the comatose Lantash. “We have much to discuss.”

Selmak kept his hand on Martouf’s neck, a gentle lead as the turned back toward the door. O’Neill nodded respectfully, eyes solemn as they took each other in. “Martouf.”

“O’Neill” He returned with equal respect.

O’Neill turned to look at Selmak, “Seven, A, fourteen.”

Martouf blinked, frowning slightly in confusion, but held his question back. Jacob would explain. They nodded to the General, Martouf looking over toward Kevin and giving him a reassuring smile and nod as they took their leave.

In the corridor he heard the rattle of kicked metal, and O’Neill’s voice loudly exclaiming, “Hey! Sleeping Beauty! Up. You’re scheduled for debrief in one hour…” The words faded away as Martouf and Jacob rounded a corner and the elevator came into view.

“Jack assigned you personal quarters. That’s where we’re going. Level seven, section A, room fourteen.”

A waiting airman swiped his card, opening the elevator, before reassuming parade rest in his post. Martouf was once again thankful for Jacob, and just how much the man had taught him about Tau’ri culture, and military procedure in particular. Martouf had wanted to learn, figuring it was best if he understood their new friends and potential allies as well as he could. The lift dinged as the doors closed behind them. 

 

* * *

 

“Hey! Sleeping Beauty! Up. You’re scheduled for debrief in one hour. And you look like Gimli. Hit the barber on three. And Grogan!” He called, stopping the creeping exit of the three Lieutenants in the observation gallery. “Find him some BDUs, will ya?”

 

An hour later found Elliot fidgeting in his seat in the briefing room. Freshly cut hair, showered, shaved, and in a new set of BDUs. Somehow, this once almost-familiar place felt entirely alien. He felt alien. Different. Out of place. Like he no longer belonged. And yet… if not here, then where?

Maybe he should go to the Tok’ra. He’d only been host to Lantash for a few paltry hours, an experience that had been overwhelming, for several reasons, first because it had been unexpected. The ceiling came down, blinding pain, nothing and then… another mind; a mind with so much knowledge - the whole sum of entire lives. Memories that lived in Technicolor, that practically breathed. Which had been even more overwhelming – somehow – than no longer being alone in his own head. Despite that, and the circumstances of their blending, he had quickly come to appreciate how rewarding a partnership it could be - especially at the end.

 _Everyone dies alone_ , that’s what they always say. But he hadn’t. Not the first time at least. At that point, Lantash’s presence had been the most comforting thing in the world. As they were being dragged by Jaffa toward the gate, toward death, Lantash had delved into his memories, and shared them with his host. Elliot had felt sand between his toes, heard the ocean’s song and the cry of seagulls, felt the spray on his face, smelt the salt on the wind, all as if he had been standing on the shores of Marloon himself right then instead of being dragged through the still smoldering wreckage of Ravenna. And though he had never begrudged giving up Lantash, so that Martouf could resume his position as host, throughout the subsequent years he had desired a partner like that of his own.

A throat cleared, pulling him from his reminiscence. “Care to share with the class?” The general asked.

“I’m sorry sir, got a lot on my mind.” Elliot said, feeling like he was half lying. Yeah, he had a lot on his mind, but it was such a chaotic mess he felt like he couldn’t think about anything… almost comatose. Damn, where was Martouf’s soothing presence when you needed it?

Okay, uncalled for. Elliot wondered if he should worry about his apparent dependency on Martouf and Lantash.

“That’s alright Lieutenant, understandable given the circumstances.” General O’Neill settled into his seat at the head of the table. “I hope you don’t mind, but SG-1 is going to be sitting in on this little conversation of ours, because they were all present on Ravenna when some of the events in question took place.”

Elliot gave an assenting nod. Not that it mattered; he wasn’t being asked, he was being informed. The general gave a put-upon sigh and reached for the carafe of coffee, pouring himself a mug. Elliot perked. He hadnt had caffeine in years… true; coffee wasn’t his preferred delivery method (hello Mountain Dew), but… caffeine… He eyed the carafe and licked his lips.

A soft chuckle drew his attention to Colonel Carter as she sat down across from him, reached for the carafe and poured two mugs, sliding one across the table to him. “Thank you,” he said as Dr. Jackson and Teal’c flanked the Colonel.

“Not a problem, Lieutenant,” she assured with an almost fond smile in his direction. That was weird. She’d never looked at him like that before. He fought the urge to shift in his seat, certain that it was misplaced affection for Lantash… or rather Martouf. After all, last time they’d seen each other he’d been host to Lantash, and barer of what Martouf’s memory, the one who told her of the symbiote’s feelings.

He suddenly remembered her stroking his face, as though his skin was the softest of feathers; her expression a mosaic of feelings, confused, pained, lost, fond, etc. Yeah, this was awkward. Because it really wasn’t _him_ she’d been caressing. He wasn’t even sure if it had been for the symbiote inside him.

Yup. Time to pretend that that’d never happened. Especially considering Elliot’s current status as _former_ host to Lantash.    

“Well now that we’re all here, lets get this show on the road. I’m a very busy and important man, with many important things to do.”

“Of course you are, Jack.”

“We never doubted you sir.”

“Indeed.”

Elliot smothered a quick smile at the dry responses and long suffering expressions. They were a well-oiled machine. Long accustomed to each other’s quirks and mannerisms, and it showed in their causal interactions. Kinda beautiful, honestly.

He suddenly realized that there were four pairs of eyes on him. “Oh, I’m three years outta the loop. I have no idea. If you say so, sir.” He gave an awkward and aborted salute in the general’s direction.

General O’Neill sighed – again – before his demeanor changed and became more business like. Now they were getting started. “Okay, for real now. We know everything up until you and the sn- Lantash decided to stay where the Jaffa would find you, while the rest of us hid, so that you could release the Tok’ra poison and take out Zippy’s army. So what happened next, LT?”

Elliot cleared his throat and clasped his hands around the warm mug of coffee. “Well… at first it all went according to plan. The Jaffa came, took us back to their base by the Stargate, we released the poison and died.” There was a collective wince from the other four occupants of the room. “But apparently, it wasn’t as persistent as the Tok’ra thought it was, and when the Jaffa reinforcements arrived, they survived and took us back through the gate to some backwater compound of Zipacna’s. The sarcophagus was able to revive Lantash and I, and also Martouf.

“We figure it was the first round of Jaffa that found his stasis chamber and that it was in route to the gate when we were, and therefore pretty easy for the reinforcements to find. After that, we were revived and thrown in a cell together to wait. Martouf and Lantash reblended, and they starved us out for about a week before Zipacna started to ‘question’ us.”

“A week? Really?” Colonel Carter was clearly surprised. He could well understand - he’d been surprised too.

“Yeah. Most likely having such a large force wiped out cost him pretty dearly. I think he had more pressing matters to deal with. He was plenty pissed when he did get around to torturing us. Ranted a lot about how much we’d cost him, and some ‘Supreme Lord Anubis’, who – according to Lantash – was supposed to have died like six hundred years ago or something, and ‘being replaced by the scum Osiris’. I honestly didn’t pay much attention to his ranting. Didn’t see the point.” He shrugged unrepentant.

O’Neill smirked in apparent approval. “You know what? I like you Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir.” It was nice to hear – and an interesting juxtaposition to his previous certainty that _Colonel_ O’Neill had hated him and had every intention of failing him during his training. Still though, while he’d once craved the man’s approval, right now… it had joined the long list of things he had a hard time caring about anymore. It still hadn’t quite sunk in that he was free… that this wasn’t a dream.  

O’Neill sobered, remembered pain flashing across his face. “And how did Zippy respond to you being a former Tok’ra host?”

Elliot frowned, confused by the question, before replying. “He didn’t know.”

“He couldn’t sense the Naquadah in you?” Colonel Carter asked, before frowning herself and studying him closely.

“We were only blended for a couple hours, and my body didn’t absorb his, like yours did Jolinar’s. There’s only trace amounts of Naquadah in my blood. It’s not obvious, and with all the Naquadah based technology, and the Jaffa, he never noticed. But he also wasn’t really paying attention. He recognized my uniform and just made an assumption.”

Shame coated the back of his throat as he looked down at his untouched coffee. “I’m ashamed to admit that I was glad about that, it spared me a lot.” His voice was subdued. Colonel Carter’s hand twitched where it rested, as though fighting the urge to reach over and comfort him.

“You don’t need to feel shame about that, Lieutenant.” Dr Jackson said, face grim yet earnest. “Without Lantash you would have been more susceptible to the torture, and less resilient to its long term effects. It’s possible that you wouldn’t be sitting there right now if Zipacna had realized you were a former host to a Tok’ra symbiote. He might even have implanted a Goa’uld to get information from you. I doubt Lantash or Martouf begrudge you for not going through everything that they did.”

“Yeah, I know. They’re better people than me, both of them.” He said quietly, but with complete sincerity. Dr Jackson’s attempt to comfort him was appreciated, but he hadn’t said anything that Elliot didn’t already know.

General O’Neill cleared his throat, trying to either lift the heavy atmosphere, or get back on track. “How’d you escape?”

“Symbiote reflexes are awesome.” He deadpanned. They blinked at him, and he elaborated. “We knew that Zipacna was under attack. The whole place was shaking. One of the Jaffa got too close to our cell – the armory was past the cellblock – and Lantash grabbed him. Yanked him back and literally bashed his head against the bars, knocking him out. Got a hold on his staff weapon and blasted the lock. We ran for it.”

“Did none of the Jaffa try and stop you?” Colonel Carter inquired, perplexed.

He shrugged. “Not really. Ba’al was attacking with an obviously superior force. They had bigger fish to fry than two escaping prisoners. They probably figured we wouldn’t make it out the compound anyway, much less to the gate.”

They eyed him critically, confused by his assertion. “Yeah, I know I look healthy now, but that’s thanks to the Asgard. We were in rough shape. I’m surprised we made it, to be honest.”

“Yeah… Nerthus mentioned something about being concerned with your physical conditions.” O’Neill said, drumming his fingers on the table.

Elliot nodded. “We were there for over twenty-four hours before Nerthus decided we were well enough to head here.”

They just blinked at him.

He sat there.

They just kept waiting.

O’Neill broke first. “Look, Lieutenant, no matter what you will have to have a physical and a psych eval before we make any further decisions regarding what’s next for you.”

“Martouf had it worse than me.” He felt the need to disclose, wanting them to understand. “I… died… too easily to be much fun. So he decided that making me watch Martouf die over and over again would be more satisfying. By the time we escaped I was malnourished, but not battered too badly or otherwise injured.”

“And Martouf?” Carter asked, an edge in her voice, not quite able to school her expression into nonchalance.

He held her gaze, debating, remembering. _He love you Major. That’s one of the only reasons he was fighting to live. He just wanted you to know._

_The symbiote I carried was Martouf’s mate. Martouf and I became close friends because of it._

_I’m telling you he loves you. As much as he once loved Jolinar… He’s happy now. He just wanted you to know how he felt._

_I do. And I’ll never forget him – or you._

She’ll never forget him… what did that even mean? And Elliot had been talking about Lantash – true, host and symbiote feel as one – but isn’t it a little callous of her to mention becoming close to the dead host but make no mention of the living symbiote, who was the one declaring his love in the first place?

Elliot clinched his jaw. He knew it wasn’t his place… but damn it, he’d been Lantash’s host. He _knew_ how deep the symbiote’s love ran. He _knew_ that Lantash – unlike Martouf – had never blurred the lines between Samantha and Jolinar. He also knew that Lantash had had exactly zero expectations that Samantha would feel anything for him.

Bittersweet as it was, Lantash had known she felt – at best – a vague, distant fondness for him, and had hoped that he might be able to bask in the glow when and if she and Martouf had ever come together. But at that moment, dying on Ravenna, he truly had been happy just to be honest with her. Her lackluster response had not dimmed that.

But if Elliot was going to be honest with himself, it _had_ diminished his view of the then Major. He had been too closely entwined with Lantash not to feel the sting of rejection, even if his symbiote hadn’t. And now she sat across the table, trying not to look concerned as she asked after Martouf. Elliot knew why Nerthus didn’t want the Tok’ra to return to the tunnels, and to be honest Elliot didn’t want that either. That didn’t change the fact that he was concerned about them being in close proximity with Colonel Carter.

Hadn’t they suffered enough?

“He was extensively and repeated tortured. I actually spent most of our time after escaping with the Cimmerian’s, while he spent it in an Asgard Intensive Care Pod.”

“Should I have him under observation?” O’Neill asked seriously, the honest concern in his eyes warming Elliot. He’d never gotten the impression that O’Neill had cared for the Tok’ra – but apparently that rule had exceptions, Martouf and Lantash apparently made that most exclusive of lists.

“Nah, Nerthus took good care of us. If you want, you could probably get your hands on the medical records if you ask.”

“Yeah,” the General drug out the word. “I’ll try for yours at least. You are after all officially SGC personnel.” He stood, clearly preparing to dismiss them. “You’re confined to the base until further notice. Head on down to the infirmary for that physical. Carmichael will have some extra tests for you I’m sure. Your old quarters are occupado, so I’ve assigned you to nine, A, twelve. Got it?”

Elliot stood up and shook his hand. “Yes sir.”

 

* * *

  

“Whoa Carter, hold up.” Jack said with an exaggerated head nod so she’d move away from the door. Daniel and T gave them both passive nods of farewell as they headed out the door with a wave from Sam, Daniel closing the door behind them. She turned back toward him with wide innocent eyes.

Jack sighed. He really didn’t want to wade into this… but felt that he needed to. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to her – he was a hot-blooded man after all. But taking the chance to kiss her in the control room during that seemingly endless time loop a few years back had made a few things clear. For starters, he figured it said something that he’d only done it the once. Yeah, she was beautiful, smart, and strong. Everything a guy like him could ever want. But their chemistry wasn’t in the same vein as his chemistry with Sarah had been – and arguably still was.

He and Carter made a hell of a field team, but would drive each other crazy on the homefront. In another universe, yeah, they could work – he actually knew for a fact that in one such universe they _had_ worked. But not here. That kiss hadn’t sparked him the way he’d expected it to. As right as it felt walking in step with her off-world, is how wrong it felt to try and be more. They only circled each other because it was safe. They both knew that they each wanted other things more than they wanted each other. Where there is a will, there is a way. And if – eight years later – they hadn’t found a way, it was because there wasn’t a will for it.

Eventually he’d realized that the answer was fear. He and Sarah hadn’t separated because they didn’t love each other anymore; they had separated because they couldn’t look at each other anymore without seeing their dead son. He hadn’t forgiven himself for what happened to Tyler, and didn’t feel like he deserved to move on. Was afraid that moving on might mean more kids. He could never replace Tyler. The idea of more kids who wouldn’t know their big brother hurt him. Hurt him so deeply he’d focused on a woman he would never have. Because it was safe. He could hide there.

And for her part, Jack figured that Sam didn’t trust herself to make a good choice. Jonas had been controlling, and Jack suspected abusive, emotionally and verbally if not physically. The rat bastard had literally tried to kill her. It made sense that she’d be afraid that if she chose a prick once, she might inadvertently do it again. So she’d focused on him. The superior officer she’d never alter her career course to pursue. At least… not in this universe.

Which led him to the here and now… and Martouf. “How you doing, Carter?”

She fidgeted. Shifted her weight, crossed and uncrossed her arms, cleared her throat. “Sir?” She asked, a horrible attempt at playing dumb.

“Sam,” he said, quietly emphatic, knowing that the use of her nickname would get her attention. He could count on one hand (with fingers to spare) how many times he’d called her Sam to her face in the last eight years.

She looked away, biting her lip, eyes glassy, before returning her gaze to his, face hardening, “I’m fine sir.”

Bullshit.

“You seen your old man, yet?” He decided to hedge the subject.

She cocked her head curiously. “My dad’s here? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, you must not have been on base yet when he arrived. I’m creating an attaché position here for the Tok’ra.” Jack made sure to meet and hold her gaze. “I want it to be Martouf. Our alliance is down to bare bones and he was one of the people who made it work in the first place. Jacob represents us to the Tok’ra, figured it was about time we had one of them here. Who knows, it might help.”

He watched her like a hawk as she swallowed heavily and nodded. “It’s a good idea sir. I hate how strained things have been. Something like this would definitely help open the lines of communication and hopefully help us understand their position on various issues. Thoran and Delek just aren’t as good at making us understand them as dad and Martouf.”

“All good points.” He trailed off. “You gonna be okay with him here?”

She looked at him perturbed. Clearly continuously asking how she is (he usually just drops it at once) is starting to piss her off. He’s okay with that. He won’t get the answers he’s looking for unless he gets under her skin.

Not to worry – getting under people’s skin was his specialty. And she was starting to crack.

“You know what, why are you doing this?” She demanded. “You don’t even like Martouf, you never have. You hate the Tok’ra. You call them ‘snakes’ and ‘Goa’ulds’ all the time. So what’s with the one-eighty? Why are you suddenly acting like you like them when everyone – SGC, Tok’ra, and rebel Jaffa - knows you don’t?”

He studied her, admiring the movement of her chest as she tried to reign in her passion. Waiting until he knew he had her undivided attention before speaking. “I’ve got issues with the Tok’ra, I won’t deny that. But I like and respect Martouf. Hell, I even respect his snake!”

Sam gave him the deadpanned stare of total disbelief.

“I’m serious!” He insisted. “Sure, Lantash can be an arrogant ass, but he didn’t say _I told you so_ , and rub it in our faces when he turned out to be right about the whole giving-asylum-to-Apophis thing backfiring in our faces. And he did die for us. As far as I’m concerned, they’ve both only ever acted with honor.”

They were silent for a few minutes. Sam clearly battling with herself about what to say – or maybe ask. He waited patiently. Eventually, she looked at him helplessly. Unable to bring herself to ask whatever it was she needed to know. But that was okay, he was pretty sure he knew.

“The only issue I’ve ever had with Martouf, is that I thought he only saw Jolinar when he looked at you.” He said softly.

She crossed her arms, shoulders curling in on herself defensively, and struggled to meet his eyes again.

“It’s not true, Sam.” Jack said implacably.

She scoffed before she could stop herself. Not even trying to look him now, instead focusing out the window on the Stargate.

“You remember when we were on Netu, and it was Daniel’s turn to take that messed up trip through the seventies,” she chuckled at his blithe reference to being drugged by the _Blood of Sokar_. “You and Martouf were with Jacob and I was passed out behind you?”

She nodded in the affirmative, eyeing him critically now.

“Well,” he continued, “I wasn’t quite as out of it as you thought. I heard you talking. ‘I knew it was you. I could not watch him kill you, Samantha.’ That’s what he said. Even drugged to the gills, he knew you weren’t Jolinar. That’s significant. Don’t brush it off just ‘cause it’s easier to deal the other way.” He turned on his heel and started toward the door to his office.

“Sir,” she called after him, unsure.

Jack paused and looked back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“… Never mind.”

He nodded, “Just… be honest with yourself Carter. No matter where that leads, it’s the right choice.”

She cleared her throat, looking awkward, before she followed in Teal’c and Daniel’s steps and quit the room.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time we pick up with Jacob and Martouf... hopefully.


	3. Dust In The Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short, sorry about that. I figured I may as well post what had been sitting on my computer for weeks. Hope you enjoy it.

“It really is good to see you, Martouf.” Jacob said after the door closed behind them.

“You as well,” Martouf breathed, a small melancholy smile touching his lips. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong with Selmak, now?”

Jacob looked at him with surprise. “Wha… how did you?”

“His energy signature is not quite right… not blatantly wrong, mind, but I am aware of a potential underlying problem in his code of life that this change seems indicative of.”

“Jolinar told you?” Selmak looked torn between annoyance that he knew and pleased that he didn’t have to explain.

“She told Lantash a few years after their bonding.” Martouf clarified softly with a tilt of his head. “Is there any way…” He didn’t really know how to word his query, how to state his concern.

“No.” The word was spoken with finality. “Not even a sarcophagus could fix this. It’s an error in his DNA, a mutation, not damage.”

“What about you?” The question was unnecessary. Martouf knew the answer. Because it was exactly what he would do if it were Lantash dying.

Jacob’s eyes were solemn and understanding. He knew that Martouf was asking because he had to, not because he was expecting the answer the humans no doubt would when they heard of this. Martouf and Jacob were both willing hosts – true sons of the Tok’ra – and the understanding between them ran deep.

Oddly enough it always had.

“This is my hill.” Came the expected, grave response.

Martouf nodded his understanding, looking down at the dusty, unappealing carpet beneath his borrowed boots. He would do no less, and could ask for nothing different.

Gathering his wits, and ignoring the tears pooling in his eyes, Martouf looked back up at his friends. Their face was etched with deep lines of concern, but stalwart nonetheless. “I will miss you, my friends.” His lips twitched into a sad smile that fell quickly.

If possible the frown lines on Jacob’s face deepened further. He put a hand on Martouf’s shoulder as they just looked at each other, before the former General muttered “come here,” and pulled him into another embrace, squeezing the back of neck. “You’re like a son to me, I hope you know that.”

Martouf squeezed his eyes shut against the impending tears. It was too much. He was overwhelmed. The memories of torture – that he hadn’t experienced – were oozing into his subconscious. The galaxy was different than it had been. Seeming to have realigned at random. Friends were gone. He didn’t know where he belonged anymore, or what his purpose was. Jacob and Selmak were dying. And Lantash was silent. How was he supposed to cope with his entire world turning on its head?

At length they pulled apart, each taking a moment to gather themselves. Martouf cleared his throat, wanting to chase away the oppressive feeling of melancholy but not knowing how.

Jacob apparently had fewer problems in that department. “And speaking of unhealthy symbiotes, how is Lantash?” Jacob arched a brow. “I’d expected him to come forward almost immediately.”

Martouf grimaced. “Unfortunately he is dormant at the moment.”

Jacob frowned in concern. “He gonna be alright?”

“Yes, he will. He should begin to wake intermittently in just over one Tau’ri week.” Martouf swallowed. It was hard, being alone. So very hard to be without the guidance he’d relied on since he was sixteen.

Jacob patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. This time, neither of them felt the need to break the silence that settled comfortably over them. At least for a time, eventually though, Jacob started to tell him about the time he’d missed.

 

* * *

 

Jack raised an eyebrow as Jacob hesitated on the foot of the ramp. That was new. “You okay there, Jacob?”

“Yeah,” The former general threw over his shoulder without ever actually looking away from the open gate. “Just not looking forward to this conversation… neither is Sel.”

“Oh?” Came his typical cheeky response.

Now Jacob did look at him. Gaze unimpressed, practically oozing parental disappointment. “You don’t know Martouf as well as you think you do. And you definitely don’t know Lantash. I love them like they were my own, and Sel and I will both fight for what’s best for them.” He paused, “But the council is not going to just roll over on this one. Lantash is a valuable operative, and with the situation for the Tok’ra being what it is… Well, lets just say this won’t go over well.”

Jack stood with his hands in his pockets, shifting weight from his toes to heels, rocking as he raised an incredulous eyebrow. “I always got the picture that he was small-fry.”

Jacob scoffed. “Yes, as punishment for repeatedly stating contrary opinions to the council, and on more than one occasion outright disobeying direct orders, he was stripped of his status.”

“Really? He always seemed chummy with the council to me.”

“Really Jack.”

They stood in silence for moment, staring at the gate, before Jacob continued. “You know, he could have been on the council?”

Jack raised his eyebrows again as Jacob looked at him.

“He an Jolinar both had been offered council seats at one time or another. He turned down the appointment. Wanted to stay in the field. He regretted that choice later, of course.”

“I’m assuming around the time he started sticking it to the man?”

“Yeah, exactly. Thoran took the appointment after Lantash rejected it the last time. He, Ren’al, and Delek together had enough weight to start changing the way the Tok’ra did some things, which Lantash – in no uncertain terms - disagreed with.”

“And so he was demoted.”

“Yup. As far down as they could make it.” The former General shrugged, “Didn’t really change anything, he didn’t mind the work – and there was less for him to disagree with the council over this way.”

“So win-win?”

Jacob laughed, “Somewhat. His skills as an operative were sorely missed, but the council liked that short leash – fewer opportunities for him to cause trouble.”

“Ah.”

Jacob sighed heavily. “Look Jack, just do a favor and keep an eye on my Sammy will you? This is a lot harder on her than she’s willing to admit.”

“Don’t worry, Daniel, Teal’c and I will look after her.”

“Good.” The Tok’ra sighed again before muttering under his breath, “Best get this over with.”

“See ya around.”

“Sooner rather than later, I’d bet. Take care of them Jack – both of them.”

 

* * *

  

Jack shifted on his feet feeling like a gossiping old bitty. Showing up on someone’s door to talk about someone else. But at this point, he didn’t know what else to do. He’d promised Jacob that he’d take of them. Martouf hadn’t really needed him; Lieutenant Elliot was keeping the Tok’ra close. He _had_ managed a game of poker with Martouf and Teal’c and had been pleasantly surprised by how much he’d enjoyed the Tok’ra’s company. But Carter had been burying herself in her work to a worrying degree, shutting everyone out – even Daniel.

Hanging his head in defeat, Jack pounded on the door. A minute later it opened to reveal the smiling face of Catherine Langford. Jack felt his own face soften into a smile at the sight.

“Catherine,” he greeted.

“Hello Jack. It’s good to see you. Come on in.” Jack stepped into the foyer and noticed a head peaking out from down the hall. At first he thought it was Ernest, but then…

“Daniel?” Jack said with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Oh, hey Jack. What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he drawled.

“Oh you know,” Daniel said in that way of his. “…Perspective…”

“Huh… So, Sam?”

“Little bit.”

“Fair enough.” Jack brushed past a clearly amused Catherine and joined Daniel in the den.

“So both my boys are here for the same reason then? Trouble with the same girl, even. I have to admit I didn’t think either one of you had it in you.” Oh yeah. Catherine was getting a major kick out of this.

“Well, you see, we just don’t have enough distance to be able to give Sam perspective. We’re just too involved.” Daniel said awkwardly. For someone so smart he really did suck at explaining himself sometimes.

“So Sam’s having some love trouble, and you thought I could give her perspective?” Catherine raised her eyebrows as though to question their collective sanity. Jack had to admit she had a point.

“Well… it’s just...” Daniel looked at him for help as he fished desperately for words. Jack just looked at him. “Yes.” He eventually finished, looking back at Catherine, who was arranging the tea tray.

“So would I be correct in guessing this boy is from a different planet? Someone she met while exploring our galaxy?”

There was a certain twinkle in Catherine’s eye sometimes. A spark like Sam’s. Something that made Jack wish he’d seen her in her heyday, or that she’d been born a few decades later so that that incredible drive of hers – the one that created the SGC as he now knew it – could have shaped the world even more. She certainly was a force to be reckoned with.

“Yes, you would be correct to assume that.” Daniel confirmed, with a more decisive nod of his head. Jack wondered where he’d developed that mannerism.

“Well,” she said with a dainty veneer, “assuming this mystery man of her isn’t another Ra, I don’t see the problem with it.”

Jack and Daniel looked at each other significantly before looking away.

After witnessing the exchange, Catherine’s face fell and hardened, “He’s not, is he?”

“No! Well… kind of.” Man, Daniel really sucked at this stuff. Jack decided to interject before things got worse.

“It’s complicated.” He said.

“I don’t see the complication. Either he is a Goa’uld or he isn’t.” Catherine asserted.

“Yeah… I used to think that way,” Jack said wistfully, gazing dreamily off into the distance. He loved when things were black and white. So much simpler.

“Used to? You still do!” Daniel insisted. “You just added an exception column and it’s got a grand total of two names on it!”

“Now hold on there, Danny Boy,”

“Boys!” Both heads snapped toward Catherine. “I think you better start from the beginning, and tell me how exactly it is that Sam came to have feelings for one of the Goa’uld.”

Jack noticed Daniel eyeing him with a considering expression and stiffened. “Don’t look at me! You’re the history buff.”

“How far back am I supposed to go?” It was supposed to be a question, but it came out as more of an exclamation… or a whine.

“The beginning.” Catherine was clearly annoyed. Jack scooted a little further away - out of the splash zone, as it were. Woman was scary when she wanted to be. He was starting to think that coming here to ask her if she’d be willing to have a chat with Sam was a mistake. He’d only been trying to help. Carter bottled up everything. And Jack knew from experience just how unhealthy that was… and how bad it could bite you in the ass later.

“Well, for starters, do you remember me mentioning to you a few years ago that we’d found an already formed resistance group against the Goa’uld?” Daniel started.

“Yes, you said they took their name from their cause and were literally called ‘Against Ra’.” Came the irritated response.

Daniel gave yet another nod of approval. Geez, he dished them out like candy. “Yes, exactly. What I didn’t mention was that that resistance group was made up of Goa’ulds; or, more accurately, the same symbiotic creatures. It turns out that ‘Goa’uld’ isn’t the name of their species, so much as it is the prominent culture within said race.”

“Okay,” Catherine said to indicate her understanding. “So since you’re telling me this, I take it to mean that this… potential interest… of Sam’s, is a part of a subculture?”

“Exactly, yes. They’re called the Tok’ra. Tok means against. Tok Ra, against Ra.” Daniel really did like that part. Jack had no idea why. “Their history as a people is quite fascinating actually. The Tok’ra Queen, the one who literally spawned their movement, used to be Ra’s Queen.”

“What!” Jack exclaimed, shooting up in his seat.

“Yeah… you didn’t know that?” Daniel asked, seeming actually perplexed, while Jack was furious.

“No.” Came his simple, decisive answer. Because it was true. No, he had not known that. In fact he couldn’t remember _ever_ hearing _any_ of the Tok’ra mention that. Granted… if they loved mommy and hated daddy then he supposed he could understand their reticence, but still! Did the damn treaty they’d signed mean nothing? Geez Louise.

Then a different thought occurred to him. “Wait a minute Daniel, just wait. Are you seriously saying that the literal war that the Tok’ra have waged against the Goa’uld - for a couple millennia I might add – was just the fallout from a lovers tiff?”

“Ooh, no. No, no, no, no. I would not describe them as “lovers”. No. It was about the survival of their very species, not love.”

“Perhaps you should explain in more detail, Daniel. I think it’s safe to say that we’d both like to know.” Bless Catherine, ever cool-minded. Yes, he did want to know, and she clearly did too or she wouldn’t have asked.

“Right uh. ‘Ra’s race was dying,’ right?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “We know that part. He brought his buddies here.”

“Right, not exactly. See, after discovering this new, plentiful, host species, he gathered potential hosts and took them to the Goa’uld, who were being decimated by some ailment or plague. That part of the history is never quite clear, why they suddenly couldn’t survive on their own in the manner they had previously. The word they use to describe what was essentially a cataclysm for them, translates as ‘The Reaping’ or alternately, ‘The Mourning’. We know that they were dying, that it was an extinction level event, and that some managed to take hosts, as a last-ditch effort to save themselves.”

“There are ridiculous numbers of Goa’uld out there Daniel.” Jack deadpanned.

“Yeah, now. But then, during The Reaping, there weren’t. Unas were related closely enough to them that they could easily be taken as hosts, but they were also few, and not as easy to sustain. Ra realized that humans were the answer. So he delivered hosts to his people.”

Jack couldn’t help but interject again, sneering sarcastically. “Sounds like a right savior, that one.”

“Yes and no. Humans were plentiful enough, and easy for symbiotes to sustain, but implantation was a serious problem. Only a couple dozen survived the blending.”

“What?” Catherine’s voice was quiet, equal parts amazed, fascinated, and horrified.

“Yeah, they died in droves. Only one out of every few hundred survived taking a human host. Of those few dozen survivors, only two were Queens. Hathor,” Jack and Daniel shared a horrified shudder, “who was too young to breed, and Egeria. And it was Egeria – future Queen Mother of the Tok’ra - who figured out that incorporating DNA from the host species into the fertilization process would allow for a significantly higher success rate. Survival jumped from one in three hundred or so, to one in ten.”

“So he found the answer, and she made it viable.” Catherine concluded.

“Yes. The species survived – even thrived - because of Ra and Egeria. From what I’ve been able to gather, philosophical differences between them developed fairly quickly, just not quite quickly enough. His power was cemented and she was replaceable.”

“Yeah, with Hathor! Who I might add, eventually drove him crazy enough that he banished her to the other side of the planet, with every intention of leaving her there for all eternity!” Jack grumped and collapsed back into his chair. “Too bad she didn’t stay that way.”

“Can’t argue with you on that.” Daniel muttered.

Catherine opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by Jack and Daniel simultaneously insisting, “You don’t want to know.”

“Hmph.” She glared at them both for a minute but thankfully let it drop after that. “What exactly are these ‘philosophical differences’? I’d like to understand why they war amongst themselves. Especially if you’re still expecting me to talk to Sam.” Catherine said with a pointed stare, sipping politely on her tea.

Daniel cleared his throat. “Eventually, Egeria realized that while yes, her host was quite primitive,”

“Hey!” Jack hated it when they were called that. Primitive. Pfft. Shows what they know.

“You don’t have to like it Jack, that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. They were exploring the universe through the Stargates and with ships while man was still enamored of this new thing called fire!”

Jack rolled his eyes, but waved his friend on. Daniel – of course – drug the moment out, staring at Jack for longer than necessary to make sure he was done. Which he was… for the moment anyway.

“As I was saying, Egeria realized that though primitive, her host was sentient; capable of complex emotions and thoughts. She stopped suppressing her host. Instead she began to communicate with her, eventually even sharing her mind. Her host therefore learned everything that she knew, understood that it was technology and not magic that made the Goa’uld great.”

“They became friends?” Catherine sounded quietly intrigued by the admittedly bonkers notion.

“Yes. The Tok’ra call it blending, when host and symbiote share their minds and emotions. It can be a very deep, rewarding relationship.”

“It sounds fascinating if I’m being honest. I cannot even fathom the depth of understanding that would create…” She trailed off, thinking deeply.

“It takes some serious getting used to from the outside though, let me tell you.” Jack added. “Every one of them seems schizophrenic. They’re not,” he assured at her slightly disturbed expression, “but because of the whole ‘no suppression’ thing, there are two people in one body, and they go back and forth. It’s weird.”

“If that’s true, then Sam isn’t in love with one man, she’s in love with two! Or does she feel for one and not the other?”

Again Jack and Daniel looked at each other. “We… really don’t know.” Daniel shrugged. “It’s hard to say. And complicated because it’s not entirely… organic, for lack of a better term.”

Jack huffed an irritated breath at Daniel’s beating around the bush, and attempts to ease into what he wanted to say. “What Daniel is trying to say, is that Carter was a host for about forty-eight hours and sorta, kinda, inherited said symbiote’s emotions for her mate of about a century.”

“You mean she’s not really in love with him – them – at all?” Ha! Jack wasn’t the only one confused by the whole two personalities, one body shindig.

“No… no, that’s not what we’re saying.” Daniel hedged.

“He’s Carter’s type.” Jack assured.

“It’s more likely that Jolinar’s emotions acted as something of a conduit, speeding up an otherwise natural reaction. Like Jack said, they became close in their own right. We’ve done several joint missions with Martouf, and worked closely with him during negotiations for our formal alliance with the Tok’ra. If anything, the remnants of Jolinar get in the way. Make Sam doubt, and hesitate where I’m not sure she would otherwise. And if that isnt complicated enough, we really know very little of Lantash - Martouf's symbiote” he added for Catherine's benefit. "I think I've only actually seen him in control... once?" Daniel looked to Jack for confirmation.

"Twice," He corrected softly, before a contemplative silence fell over the trio.  

“This is quite a mess, isn’t it?” More polite sipping of her tea.

“Uhhh… yeah. Definitely a mess.” Daniel said.

“And that’s why we’re here… Talking to you.” Jack summed up.

She hummed in understanding, eyeing them both shrewdly over the top of her porcelin mug. “Quite a tale you boys have brought me. I’ll need to think on it before I will even consider talking to Sam.”

“That is perfectly understandable, I’d never ask for less.” Jack assured.

“And I’ll need to meet him.” She blithely threw out before polishing off the last of her tea.

“Catherine…”

“Don’t give me that Jack! You run that base now, you can bring me in.”

He sighed heavily. At least he’d anticipated her request and was willing to do it. “Alright, but if you want to do this soon, I cant promise you’ll actually be able to talk to Lantash. He’s in something of a healing coma, but Martouf is up and about and Lt Elliot also hosted the snake for a bit so he might be able to answer some questions.”

Catherine blinked a couple time, expression changing rapidly. “I believe we’ve gotten off track.” She set her teacup down with a little more force than strictly necessary. “You’ve told me about the history of his people, but next to nothing about the man and symbiote themselves – except that you apparently approve.”

“I wouldn’t go quite that far.”

“Jack,”

“Well I wouldn’t Daniel! I’m not saying I’d object or anything but,”

“Be that as it may,” Catherine spoke loudly, “I need to know more of the _relevant_ information.”

Daniel cleared his throat. “Right, umm…”

“Oh for Christ’s sake!” Jack took over, “Carter was taken as a host; the snake died saving Carter; Carter started experiencing some of Jolinar’s memories in dreams, insisted we meet the Tok’ra; met Marty, made cow eyes at him, got to know him as her dad blended; we worked with him a few times, were tortured together, he proved he was honorable; Carter had to shoot him when Apophis decided he wanted revenge and made Marty a Za’tarc; we thought they were both dead, turned out the snake survived and he took one of ours as a host when Zippy attacked the Tok’ra homeworld; Lantash and his new host both had life-threatening injuries, they died saving us; three years later we find out that Zippy managed to revive them in a sarc and all three of them – Lt Elliot, Marty somehow, and Lantash – have spent the past three years being tortured to death repeatedly because Lantash went out like a boss and took about 2,000 enemy combatants with him when he died… did I miss anything?”

Daniel shook his head. “Nah, that about covers it.”

“Mmm, quite a heavy story, I believe I understand why Sam is struggling. Having someone you feel for come back from the dead is quite a jarring experience… but rewarding too. I’ll talk to her.”

Daniel and Jack both exhaled in relief. Good, the woman would deal with this, no question she’d handle it better than they would.

“After I meet him of course.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

Ah, it wouldn’t be that bad. How much trouble could one little old lady get into? 

 


End file.
